


Changing things for the better

by rynotfound



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angry TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Blood, Blood Vines, Blood and Injury, But he’s trying to be, But it’s not really that descriptive, Child Abuse, Curses, Dead Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Eggpire, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, I’m sorry Tubbo, Like he’s not a good person, Mentioned Ghostbur - Freeform, Nightmare, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Physical Abuse, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Protege Tommyinnit, Protege!Tommy, Protégé TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Some brief body horror, Sort Of, Time Travel, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has a Bad Time, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Tommy is literally cursed, Tommy is really horrible, Tommy is traumatized asf, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynotfound/pseuds/rynotfound
Summary: Tommy goes back in time to fix what happened in the future, and only then does he realize howfucked uphe really was.(Or: Tommy is Dream’s protege, but he goes back in time to do things differently. Maybe then he can save everyone from their impending doom—enemies or not.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 325





	1. The past

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for my writing being messy (and for this chapter being short) but i just. can’t seem to focus enough to keep my writing steady and the chapter going. so, for now, this is the introduction, i guess. it starts off rough (as does most of my writing) but it progressively gets more detailed (and probably better? who knows)

Tommy was in the past now, no longer sporting a red, tattered hoodie and a white, taunting mask—albeit refreshing, he missed it. He missed the gloves Dream gave him, and the words whispered to him, and— and he tried not to think about it, really.

He knew he was messing up the timeline, and he knew he just went against Dream’s wishes, but how was Dream supposed to disapprove? He was dead. He had been dead for so many months, so many years—it would be surprising if Tommy didn’t pass out the next time he saw him. And he would, someday; Tommy needed time, first, and a plan.

Thankfully, he had all of the items he needed. Before Wilbur—yes, _Wilbur_ , and not Ghostbur, thank Ender—could see him, he shoved the items into his enderchest. Then, slowly, he tip-toed back into his room. 

If he travelled correctly, he should have been placed just before the election-era. Therefore, Jschlatt hadn’t entered yet, and Wilbur hadn’t gone completely insane yet. So, he had time. He had enough time. The election would be in a week.

Now, he just had to act like past Tommy, and blend in. All while trying to figure out what to do about the events that would soon unfold. 

Sighing, he made himself comfortable in his spikey, wooden chair.

Tommy got up, stretching his limbs. He had heard noises downstairs, but he hadn’t had much time to check them out. Now he could, since he had finished his work for today; he had mapped out the possible outcomes—as Dream had drilled into his head prior—and started working on the actual plan. Tommy was almost completed, sort of; but he would have enough time. He would.

He slipped on his L’manburg uniform, and then walked down the stairs. There, sporting a sleepy expression, stood Wilbur, sipping coffee as he talked with someone on the phone. Tommy stood there, numb, for a second, and only moved when Wilbur began to walk toward one of the dining chairs. 

“Oh, Tommy,” Wilbur greeted, grinning. Tommy walked up to his brother, forcing out a grumble. “Here, have some pancakes; it’ll wake you up.”

“Pancakes?” Tommy asked, tilting his head. “Ah, shit. Okay. I hate those, though.”

He hadn’t really had normal food in a while. Usually, with Dream, the man only ate Steak, and so Tommy did too, for a while. That was until the man went and fucking _died_ , and Tommy had to survive on his own—and even now, the feeling of paranoia and dread never left his system. 

Wilbur didn’t respond, so Tommy took it as a cue to begin eating. Although Tommy knew Wilbur wasn’t insane now, he knew he would be, soon, and he had to stop that from happening—he would stop his siblings from dying, at least, and then maybe Dream, too, if he could. Even if Dream was his only friend, he still had his family to tend to. 

“Hey, Wilbur,” Tommy began, shoving a piece of the pancake in his mouth. It was uncomfortable, talking with his mouth full—since Dream had taught him not to—but he had to, since this was probably something he would do back then. “I’m thinking of visiting dad.”

Wilbur, who had been eating, suddenly began to choke. Tommy didn’t rush over, though—he knew Wilbur wouldn’t die. Once Wilbur stopped choking, and after he drank a little bit of water, he looked up at Tommy, shocked; “What brought that on?”

Tommy shuffled, fakely. “I just miss ‘em,” He admitted, coyly, then continued, “Don’t you? It’s been— a year, now. It’s been a year. Those bitches better miss me.”

Wilbur muffled a laugh, before, “Okay,” Wilbur replied. “That’ll be fine. But only one day, Tommy, only one. We have an election to win.”

Tommy looked up, stoic. Then, forcing a smile on his face, he said, “Of course.”

Tommy had arrived at their house—a house that was, now, in the past, so pretty; but wasn’t in the future. Whereas this house was well-kept, and only had vines for the sole reason of mild decoration, the future house had vines and cobwebs for the sole reason of neglect. And Tommy couldn’t blame it; his entire family was dead. Who would’ve cleaned it, if not Phil or Techno?

Ghostbur had been missing, too, after Tommy killed them both—it was bittersweet, really; Ghostbur was happy, happy, happy, and then he had run away. He was a coward. A fucking coward who couldn’t _own up_ , a coward who, after seeing his family killed right in front of him, had decided to run away instead of facing it all. 

Tommy scoffed, and then knocked, lightly, against the wooden door.

It was only a few seconds before he heard the soft tapping of shoes, and then, finally, the door opened. “Oh,” Techno let out, surprise evident in his voice. He opened the door wide enough, and stepped to the side; “Come in.”

Tommy nodded, walking in. The house was nice, and smelt nice, too. He hadn’t been here in a while. “Is dad cooking?” Tommy asked, then, only able to restrain his emotions because of the voice in his voice reminding him of what would happen if he didn’t. Even if Dream wasn’t here—or the Dream he knew and worshipped, at least—he could still be punished, he knew. He knew that, so he didn’t cry, or sob, or anything. He kept silent.

Techno noticed that, quickly, but didn’t mention it. Instead, “Yeah,” He replied. Tommy could see it, he was worried. But he shouldn’t be; Tommy was bad, he was horrible. And he had killed Techno. He had stabbed a knife through Techno’s chest again and again until Techno’s body had _finally_ died. Until Techno could no longer ruffle his hair, or call him annoying, or— Tommy swallowed. “Why’re you here, Tom?”

Tom was a nickname Techno used when he was conflicted, or sad; Tommy didn’t know which one applied in this situation. Maybe neither. So, Tommy shrugged, deciding to play it safe, and said, “I missed you two. Besides, Wilbur’s going to be president soon; he’ll probably be busy doing fuckin’ paperwork.”

Techno snorted at that, walking deeper into the house. It was decorated to Techno’s taste, and Tommy’s distaste—although there weren’t too many items around, the missing green color from the house irked him. He had lived out five years worshipping Dream, and the missing color made him incredibly angry; maybe he was just being picky. Instead of voicing this, he followed behind Techno. 

When they made it to the kitchen, Phil was there, clad in everything but netherite armor and a white and blue uniform, as he had seen him in last. He noticed, dryly, that he was wearing something younger Tommy had gotten him for christmas once, and swallowed. “Hi, dad.” Tommy interrupted, waving his arm around to call off the smoke.

Phil turned, surprised by the familiar voice, and his eyes widened. “Holy,” Phil started, but quickly stopped. Then, in unrestricted excitement—and no resentment, or anger, or betrayal, or sadness, or regret, or guilt in his eyes, and Tommy almost curled in on himself, then. He hated that look, but remembered it so vividly. At the time, he could take it, but only now he was dealing with the memories of it like he had just realized how _bad_ he truly was—he held his arms open, and Tommy fell into them, shaken.

He missed this warmth, he did. He really, really did, and he hadn’t felt it in so long—not after he left, and not even after Phil came to L’manburg, or visited him exile, or even during his stay at Techno’s winter-cabin, or— or— Tommy frowned. “Hi, dad; I missed you.” It was an honest message. He had, truly, missed his father, and regretted what he did so deeply; so, so deeply, but he knew he would probably have to do it again if he joined Dream. But he could at least relish in the affection for now, right?

Tommy sunk further into his dad’s warm embrace. He hadn’t had human contact in a while, not after slaying his entire family and hiding away like a _fucking_ raccoon.

“I missed you too, bud,” Phil replied, patting Tommy’s head. “You’re more clingier than I remember, though; you okay, Toms?”

Tommy didn’t reply, just shoved his head deeper into his father’s shoulder. He didn’t want to speak, or think, or move; he just wanted to be a kid again. He didn’t want to think about the voices, or Dream, or what he would have to do eventually, or— or anything. So he didn’t.

“He was like that when he walked in,” Techno commented, and Tommy still didn’t reply. He missed their comfort, and their worry—it was better than resentment, at least. “Maybe something happened.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. “Hey, Toms, do you wanna go to sleep? I’ll let you— uh, sleep on my lap— one sec,” Phil moved, and Tommy stood up straight, like a fucking ironing board; Techno stared at him weirdly. Then, as if he realized what he was doing, Tommy cleared his weird, stiff stance and forcedly relaxed into a more casual one. “Okay, Toms, come on; you can come sleep here. Like old times.”

Tommy shifted, awkwardly, and then decided he was allowed this, now, because he was no longer Dream’s protege, and no longer the person they despised most. He was allowed this. He was. 

So, quietly, he followed after the two—Techno trotting after Phil, confused, but still keeping up, and Phil leading with unsure steps—and Tommy had missed this. He had missed Phil’s face, his warmth, and his everything. He had also, even if he didn’t want to admit it, missed Techno; the boy was younger, now, younger than Tommy had last seen him, and much cleaner, too. Like he hadn’t participated in any wars, yet; and he hadn’t, Tommy knew that, since Techno didn’t have the scar Tommy had given him.

Techno didn’t deserve that. Techno deserved everything except what had happened to him—he deserved to live here, domestic, with Phil and Wilbur, and all of them happy, and Tommy just— being tortured by Dream for all eternity, because Tommy deserved that. Tommy had done so much bad, and been so bad, and— and he hated it.

But he would have to do it all again, he knew. 

“Come on, Toms, lay here,” Phil patted his thigh, and Tommy sat down on the couch, unnaturally still, and so afraid; Dream had done this before, but it had been a trap. Dream had always pretended to give Tommy comfort, and then he would turn it into a punishment. He knew it was because Tommy had to learn that he couldn’t get used to comfort, but— but he could trust this, couldn’t he? He could, because these weren’t the people he had hurt. They were his old family, the people he had loved and still did. He could trust this. Tommy curled himself into a ball, and then, cautiously, lowered his head onto Phil’s thigh. “Good, now why don’t you get some sleep? You look like you haven’t slept in a while.”

Tommy nodded, hesitantly, and closed his eyes. When Phil put two fingers through his hair, however, Tommy flinched, and Phil exhaled, sharp. After that, Tommy forced himself not to flinch—he didn’t, _no_ — he _wouldn’t_ make Phil angry. He wouldn’t, not after being given a second chance. 

After some time, Tommy fell asleep, and Techno stared at his younger brother’s face, concerned. “Phil, is—” Techno stopped himself, muffling his concern, but Phil knew what he meant. Phil was worried, too.

“I’m worried too,” Phil said, then. “He flinched, Techno. Someone— someone _hurt_ him.”

Techno’s grip on the couch’s rim had increased, but he didn’t move, or talk. He was worried, and angry, but his priorities laid on letting his brother get some sleep. He knew if he moved, Tommy would wake up—although, before, he had never done that.

“Phil,” Techno began, tone unwavering—Phil looked up. “I’m going to L’manburg.”

Phil frowned, looking down at his son. He had noticed that the color had long been drained out of his eyes, and his body movement was more still and restricted, and he didn’t talk as much; it was unsettling. “Me too.” He decided, then, because it was concerning, and he was _angry_.

Tommy had woken up in fear. Usually, by now, Dream would order him awake and go about their day, but the familiar voice was nowhere to be found. And, even worse, he was in a bed, sporting a hoodie he hadn’t been wearing beforehand—his pants stayed the same, though, and that crushed the fear a bit. 

“Toms?” A soft, caring voice interrupted his inner turmoil, and the door opened. He stared at Phil for a second, before, finally, he screamed. Phil was dead, Tommy had killed him— Techno was dead, Ghostbur was gone, Tubbo had tried to kill him, and— and Dream…

“Where’s Dream?” He asked, fearful. By now, Dream would have woken him up, surely. He always had before. So, why was Phil _alive_ and why was Tommy _here_? Then, sitting up, he realized. “Oh, shit. _Shit_.”

He was here to change things. Right. “Toms, what? Dream? What happened?” Phil walked in, and closed the door behind him. Quickly, he took Tommy into his arms, and Tommy suppressed a flinch; he knew what would happen if he flinched, or if he disobeyed. He knew what would happen, so he suppressed his instincts, and curled. 

The door opened again, and Tommy looked up. Techno stood there, clad in the pajamas Tommy hadn’t seen him in in a while—not after betraying Techno again, and siding with Tubbo; with L’manburg. Tommy grimaced, curling himself into Phil’s arms more, and Techno trotted over, eyebrows drawn together in muted concern. “I heard Tommy scream.” Techno supplied, silently.

“Toms,” Phil whispered, patting Tommy’s back. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Tommy didn’t reply for a second—what _could_ he reply with? Dream wasn’t there, and he wasn’t here, yet, either, so he was technically free to say what he wanted, but the fear kept him from opening his mouth. Though, he could say something. He had to. “I had a nightmare,” He said, convincingly; after years of being lied to and manipulated, he had learned how to do it, too. “About Dream. Sorry.”

Techno sighed, but it didn’t seem to be an angry sigh, like he would seem to do constantly in the future. Tommy liked to believe it wasn’t because of him, but it was. It always was, in the end, _always_. “Okay,” Techno said, and Tommy uncurled himself from his dad’s embrace. Phil still held his arms around Tommy, but Tommy didn’t return it. “Let’s just eat breakfast.”

Tommy nodded, hesitantly, and they all walked to the kitchen, silent. Tommy was more shifty than usual, and the both of them noticed—though, they didn’t say anything. They probably wouldn’t even know what to say if they _did_ confront the issue; whatever it was making Tommy anxious, it was bad. Tommy usually didn’t _show_ his vulnerability, and now he showed up, shifty and anxious? It made no sense.

“Have a seat,” Phil said, scooting the chair back and offering it to Tommy. Tommy looked between Techno and Phil as if it were a prank, almost, and then took it. “Now, tell us what happened— with, uh, Wilbur, I mean.”

“Oh,” Tommy let out. “Okay, uh— he’s going to be president, maybe,” At the look of confusion at the added ‘maybe’, Tommy continued, “Um, Quackity—a friend of ours—is running too.”

They both nodded, and with being listened to, Tommy beamed. Dream wouldn’t often listen to him, mumbling something about ‘Tommy not knowing things’, even though Tommy knew a lot. But he trusted Dream; if Dream said he didn’t know things, it was true. Tommy continued, albeit a bit more resigned—he didn’t want to anger them—and shifted in his seat at the attention given to him; “And Wilbur’s been kind of stressed lately; I think it would help if he had more people there.”

Phil turned his head toward Techno, and Techno nodded his head. Tommy didn’t know what they were doing—were they going to punish him? Had he done something wrong? Had he made them angry? _What had he done_?—and at that, he bit his lip. “Toms,” Phil began, softly, and Tommy sat up straight, turning all his attention to Phil. “What if we—me and Techno—came down there? To live with you guys?”

Tommy’s mind whirled. _Well, that had been easy_.

Tommy jumped at the thought, but after realizing it wasn’t anyone except himself, he sat still again. “Yeah,” He replied. “That’d be good— _great_ , actually. Wilbur’s been missing you two.”

“Pog,” Techno said, monotone. “Philza and I are goin’ to L’manburg, then.”

Phil laughed, and Tommy smiled sadly. 

He _wasn’t_ Tommy, and he hadn’t been for a while; he had to remember that. He had to— he just _had_ to.

While Phil and Techno packed, and moved stuff, and talked, Tommy thought through his next move carefully; although he had a grudge against some of L’manburge citizens, he couldn’t be angry, now. He had a job to do, and there was no room for mistakes. If he did, he was afraid _he_ would be there already, and then— Tommy didn’t know what would happen, but it would be bad. 

He also had to protect Phil and Techno— and Wilbur, too, even if Tommy was somewhat bitter toward the man’s ghost; Ghostbur was not Wilbur, though, so Tommy forced himself to move past it. Along the way, he hoped he could save the others, too. Even if they hated him, and he hated them right back, he still cared for them. And now that he had a second chance, he was going to utilize that. He wouldn’t let what happened in the future happen again; he was going to make sure of that.

“Toms,” Phil interrupted, quietly. Tommy turned, attentive, and frowned slightly when Phil’s wings came into view; they fluttered a bit, and Tommy bit back a sob. He didn’t like the future one bit— _not one bit_. And he hated it even more knowing that he had caused most of it. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Tommy rolled his eyes, forcing an annoyed tone. “I’m assuming you bitches are done, then?” It was a bit hard to force his old tone, but he could do it. And he had to, anyway; he had no other choice. 

“Yeah,” Phil replied, smiling. He seemed happy now that Tommy was speaking normally again; which Tommy decided was for the best—worrying them had had its benefits, but he didn’t need anything more. “Techno’s getting the boat ready, and then we’ll head off. You don’t mind riding with Techno, do you?”

Tommy sort of did, but he didn’t voice that. Instead, “Nope,” He mumbled, turning away from his bubbly father—on days like these, where the sun was out and father was happy, he would usually make pie, and they’d all gather ‘round like a fucking summoning circle, and they’d laugh, and— and at that time, Tommy had properly been a child. Wilbur had, and Techno, too; they were all so young, and so happy, and it hurt. _It hurt_. Tommy bit his lip. “Actually, I got you guys something. It’s the same gift, but I think you’ll all make use of it. I hope.”

Phil hummed, offering no verbal response, and Tommy didn’t ask for one—instead, Tommy opted for staring out the window. 

It was peaceful. Tommy doubted it would be soon, though, and that scared him much more than _he_ ever could. Though, Tommy had always been immune to his torment, so it wasn’t like he was scared of him—or, well, he was, but only mildly.

Tommy was doing all of this to save everyone, so this time, he wouldn’t be scared of him.

Sighing, Tommy set his head down onto the wooden desk. “Phil,” Tommy began, unsure. “Do you— never mind. It’s stupid,” Tommy groaned, getting up. Quickly, he grabbed the piece of paper he was writing on, and, with a piercing glare, crumpled it. Then, he looked toward Phil, and said, “Let’s go. I can help that pig bitch with the boat.”

Phil, although confused, followed after Tommy, wings fluttering in concern—Tommy avoided looking at them. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he’d done.


	2. Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy sees Tubbo again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s chapter two! this was a bit hard to write since my motivation kept disappearing randomly (like, i’d be halfway into a paragraph and then my brain would just go ‘i’m bored’ suddenly and i’d just stop lmfao) but here it is at last! and, as of now, i’m not sure when the next chapter will be released. anyway, enjoy this emotional rollercoaster lol
> 
> tws for this chapter: mentions of manipulation, physical abuse, and mentioned blood (briefly for now, but it’ll become more detailed in the future chapters).

When Tommy and Phil had arrived at the deck, Techno was busy stuffing all of the luggage into one of the boats. Tommy assumed it was probably Phil’s, considering there was only room for one person. 

“Hey, piggy,” Tommy greeted, shoving a lazy smile onto his face. Techno numbly looked up, and then grunted, looking down. Tommy walked over, opting to help with the luggage. Then, silently, “So I’m riding with you?” He asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Techno nodded, and stood up straight. “I guess,” He replied, moving toward the other boat. “Come on, get in.” Techno said, pointing a finger toward the back of the boat. Tommy, confused, tilted his head.

“You don’t know where L’manburg is.” Tommy said, matter-of-factly. 

“Of course I don’t; I’ve never been,” Techno said, rolling his eyes. “But you don’t know how to drive a boat, so I’ll do that.”

Tommy’s eyes went wide, and he huffed. “Techno, do you know how I got here?” He asked, and Techno turned, confused.

“What?” He began, narrowing his eyes. “No, obviously not. I wasn’t with you.”

“I used a boat to get here, Tech,” Tommy said, pointedly, and glared. “I’m not a fuckin’ baby no ‘mo; I can drive a fucking _boat_ , and probably better than you, no less.” _Because I’m from the future_ went unspoken.

“Alright,” Techno sighed, defeated. He looked tired. More reason for Tommy to drive the damn boat, then. “Fine. But if we sink, I’m beating your ass.”

“Sounds fair,” Tommy grinned, sticking out his tongue. Techno didn’t respond from there, and instead crawled into the back of the boat. “By the way, ‘ooman GPS, I have a gift for you when we arrive in L’manburg.” 

Techno tilted his head, a bit intrigued. “Is it a new gown?” He asked, expecting nothing too pricey; Tommy never really liked to gather his own materials or items, so it was probably something simple. When Tommy shook his head, Techno huffed, and turned his head to stare out at the vast sea.

Tommy hummed lightly, pushing his lithe—and shorter body—into the boat, and then leaning up against the front. 

“Well,” Tommy began, processing his surroundings. The last time he had travelled through these seas, he had been desperately searching for _something_ to ignite a feeling that wasn’t pain, or guilt, or disgust, but he had only found more of that instead; it was bitter, really, how hard Tommy had fallen. “Let’s get going, then. You ready, Philza Minecraft?” Tommy asked, and turned to the other side, where Phil sat in the boat, awkwardly.

Phil nodded, and Tommy smiled, half-heartedly.

It was six hours later when the trio arrived at the port of L’manburg, and saw Wilbur standing there, eyes wide, and Fundy standing next to him. At the sight of Fundy, something in Tommy’s stomach churned—something _nasty_. He ignored it.

“Oi, dickhead! Come help us!” Tommy yelled, waving his hand around in the air, and Wilbur finally moved. He quickly sped up to the trio, and waved a hand at Fundy’s retreating form—sadly, Tommy stared at the fox, and then he remembered what had happened, and he no longer felt that sad for the fox. Tommy was bitter, still, and it was stupid; he needed to forget those memories, somehow. Or move past them. It didn’t matter which way, really, he just needed to move past his attachment.

_Attachment isn’t good_ , _Tommy_ , Dream had told him, once. Tommy believed it.

“What are you two doing here?” Wilbur asked, first, and spared a confused look toward Techno. Techno, who was busy gathering the bags into his inventory, only shrugged. Then, even more confused, Wilbur turned to look at his father.

“Uh,” Phil began, unsure. “Hey, mate. Been a while,” He greeted, and held open his arms for a hug. Desperately, Wilbur fell into his arms, and Tommy was reminded of himself, yesterday; had he looked that desperate, too? Wilbur probably less so, but enough so that it looked like a sad reunion. Tommy was reminded that it wasn’t, then, when Wilbur smiled up at Phil. “We thought it’d be nice, to— to get away, so we’re going to be staying here for a while. Why don’t you show us around, hm?”

Wilbur beamed, and then cleared his throat, embarrassed. It was sickening, to see that happiness on Wilbur’s face—it reminded Tommy of Ghostbur, and Ghostbur had not been very nice to Tommy. Or he had been, but not in the way Tommy needed; the Ghost was _no fucking help_ , ever. Tommy expected that, though, when it came to Ghostbur, but Wilbur was different. He could get physical with Tommy, he could comfort him, and help him, and— and they could be a family again. Without him. _Yeah_ , _without him_.

“Of course,” Wilbur said, grinning. Tommy, from the side, realized he hadn’t been moving and had just been staring pointedly at Wilbur only when Techno nudged him, roughly, and Tommy almost fell on his arse. Wilbur, surprised—and if Tommy saw a bit of paranoia flash in Wilbur’s eyes, then, Tommy didn’t mention it—turned toward the two, and snorted. “What? Did’ya fall asleep on the way here, Tommy?”

Beside him, Techno gripped Tommy’s arm to keep him from completely falling—it seemed to do the trick, as Tommy had been able to finally stand up straight with Techno’s support. When he felt normal again, and his mind felt like his _own_ —and trust him, he hadn’t had that in a while—he glared at Wilbur. “Tommy drove us here,” Techno chipped in, letting go of Tommy’s arm. “And I was the one who fell asleep.”

At Wilbur’s bewildered, and shocked look, Tommy grinned, smugly. It was only right; younger Tommy had never really known how to drive a boat, and could barely even handle directions, but _he_ was not Tommy anymore; he was the villain in this story, and would keep Wilbur from becoming so, because he didn’t deserve to be. And, through the bitterness, Tommy really did care for Wilbur—even though Wilbur had blown it all up—their _progress_ , their _work_ , all bare-handed—Tommy could hardly blame the man; he was pressured, and he had been dwindling into insanity long before being exiled, anyway, so it wasn’t like that was start. Wilbur had started to become unstable right when he decided L’manburg _had_ to be independent. The pogtopia-era was only the seal-breaker, really. 

Though, Wilbur’s ghost was where the problems laid; Ghostbur was _cowardly_ , and upon all the things that Dream taught him, it was that cowardice would _not_ be forgotten. Cowardice was as bad as losing a war, or burning his discs himself; it was bad, _bad_ , **_bad_**. Ghostbur was also incredibly dense, and didn’t even notice when the manipulation and abuse started. Even when Ghostbur had seen Dream hit Tommy, Ghostbur hadn’t even _flinched_ , he just floated over, and said, ‘Hey guys! What’s up?’ Like a fucking _prick_. And then Ghostbur had run away from all of his problems, after, you know. 

So, yeah, Tommy didn’t really like Ghostbur. But Wilbur was not Ghostbur, yet. Tommy could prevent that, hopefully— no, he _would_. He would. He had to.

“When’d you learn how to drive a boat, Tommy?” Wilbur asked, ruffling the teen’s hair. It had been a while since Wilbur could even do so; it was nice. “Last time you tried, you almost drowned.”

“I practiced, bitch boy,” Tommy supplied, pretending to be annoyed at Wilbur ruffling his hair. “I wanted to do something— to get my mind off the election, and Dream— damn green bastard.” Of course it was fake; he would _never_ say that to Dream. Dream was his only friend, and his mentor. But the others seemed to buy it, Wilbur snorting silently, and Phil laughing. 

“You did good.” Techno whispered to him, and Tommy was taken aback. Techno had never praised him before—He’d done good, _he’d done good_ —and at the praise, he beamed a bit. 

“Well, let me show you around L’manburg, then.” Wilbur said, then, snapping Tommy out of his stupor, and Techno gripped Tommy. Tommy let himself be dragged by Techno, assuming Techno probably wouldn’t let go even if Tommy tried—Techno was worried, and he didn’t know how to show it. Therefore, Tommy let him drag him, let him grip his arm, and let him do whatever he pleased. The comfort was appreciated. He hadn’t been in contact with people for a while now; wasting away on stale bread and short breaths. He remembers the taste of metal, and his horrified look as he remembers the voices— _the voices_ , they’ll be back, he knows they will be, and he knows—Tommy knows— _he’ll_ be back, too. He always comes back. He remembers it all, and he wishes he didn’t.

Tommy needs to change things, though, and he will.

_He will_. 

Once Wilbur is finished taking them around L’manburg, Tommy falls, exhausted, onto his bed. Next to him sits Techno and Phil, who decided that they’d share a room with Tommy, who, although angry, didn’t resist—maybe he wouldn’t have to suffer through the nightmares alone anymore. Maybe Phil and Techno could comfort him, tell him that it’s okay and _he_ ’ _s_ not here, even though Tommy knows he probably is. 

He always is, in the end. Tommy knows he’s stuck with him, but he ignores that, and instead focuses on the two across from him giving him a tired look. “So,” Phil began, curious. “Didn’t you say you had a gift for us?”

Tommy sat up at that, surprised. He had forgotten about that. Originally, he was going to give it to them when he sat them down and explained why he had the gifts in the first place—ender knows what a person would do to get them, and as many as Tommy had, no less—but he had forgotten. He had seen a lot of people today, and had a lot of silent, muffled breakdowns, and then along with that, he had been trying to keep up an act.

So, it was only natural he had forgotten. But he still blamed himself. 

“Oh, right,” Tommy replied, then, noticing their silent concern. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow since Wilbur isn’t here.”

They nodded, sharing a look, and Phil breathed out. Tommy fell against his bed another time, this time with more thoughts than the last—what would he do next? Surely, he couldn’t avoid the faces he’d known to be so close with for much longer. But he really, really didn’t want to see them; he didn’t know what he’d do if he did. Somehow, he believed he’d probably start bawling if he saw Dream now, and the opposite for Tubbo, and the rest of the self-proclaimed ‘butcher army’—well, he had already seen Fundy, so he hoped it would be as calm at that, but he knew it probably wouldn’t. After all, Fundy was literally related to Tommy, therefore Tommy felt a natural sense of protectiveness toward the fox. 

Exhaling, Tommy let himself unconsciously be wrapped into the blankets by an unknown force—maybe it was Techno, or Phil, or Dream- he didn’t really know—and after some minutes of silence, he fell asleep.

“A gift?” Wilbur exclaimed, turning his head toward Tommy, surprised. “First you’ve learned how to drive a boat, and now you’ve gotten us a gift? It’s almost too good to be true.”

Tommy snorted, lightheartedly; he knew the surprise was genuine, and not mocking. No, never mocking—Wilbur was nice like that, and Dream was cruel like that. Tommy lowered his head. Next to him, Techno stared, eyes narrowed in muted concern—Tommy felt like Techno had been more worried lately, and quietly blamed himself; he was the start of every war, of every problem— _hell_ , he was the problem, at this point. And if it weren’t for _him_ , Tommy probably wouldn’t be, but, well. That had never turned out well, going against him. Dream knew that too, and so did everyone else who knew about _him_.

Although, with Dream, it was more silent, and confused. Dream didn’t know who he was supposed to be scared of, since _he_ hadn’t exactly made himself present, but Tommy knew; Tommy _knew_. And deep down, he knew Dream knew, too.

“Well, you can give the gifts to us later,” Wilbur spoke up, shovelling a bit of food into his mouth. And then, after swallowing, added for explanation, “I have a meeting with Niki and some others about the upcoming election. You guys can come along, if you’d like; it’d probably be good insight.”

Tommy nodded, and so did Techno and Phil; Tommy knew they would come along, even if Tommy didn’t. But Tommy needed to go—he didn’t really want to be alone, and even if he didn’t want to admit it, he missed Niki. In the future, Niki had ultimately been trying to kill Tommy, but so had everyone else, so Tommy couldn’t exactly blame her. He had been bad— _good_. No, bad. _Good_? He doesn’t know.

His mind has been so skewed, and so confused. He’s had a year to think it through, but even that wasn’t enough time to settle his inner turmoil; every decision—even the little ones—would ignite the voices—the curse—to become loud and angry, and they would fight amongst each other, and even Tommy, too, if they had to. Sometimes, they lead Tommy out of making bad decisions, and sometimes they did the opposite. However, they weren’t here yet, and he hoped they never would be.

Tommy spared a look toward Techno, and breathed out. “Okay, so,” Techno started, staring at Wilbur. “Where do we begin?”

Wilbur nodded, setting his fork down. “I have to do something real quick,” Wilbur said, and turned his attention toward Tommy. “Tommy, can you take them to Niki’s bakery? That’s where we’ll be having the meeting. Tell Niki I’ll be late, though.”

Tommy nodded, and Wilbur nodded back. Soon after that exchange, Wilbur had skittered out of the kitchen, and down the hall—Tommy didn’t question it, and neither did the Techno or Phil. Instead, Tommy led them toward Niki’s bakery, which, over time, had been destroyed; just as Niki’s sanity had, almost. Tommy liked to believe Niki didn’t actually blame him, but Tommy knew she did—Dream told him she did, and he believed Dream.

“Okay, we should be there soon.” Tommy narrated, walking down the prime path with a sad frown. The prime path had been destroyed with L’manburg—blown to smithereens by Dream, Techno, and Phil; that was about the time Tommy began entirely depending on Dream, and when the manipulation became more violent. That was also about the time Tommy met him, and when Dream started being suspicious of Tommy’s words.

Though, Tommy hadn’t meant to. Really, he hadn’t; he just wanted Dream to be safe. But Dream had begun doubting him, and that’s when Dream became violent, and when Tommy started hating everyone for _not helping him_.

Tommy sighed, holding his head up high. Before they could properly make it to Niki’s bakery, though, and before Tommy could even finish his ramblings to Techno and Phil about L’manburg’s buildings, a familiar figure made itself present then. 

“Tommy!” A joyous voice chimed, getting closer as Tommy began to realize just exactly who’s voice that was. Techno noticed this—the trembling that hadn’t been there seconds before the voice started, and the wide-eyed expression on Tommy’s face: Tommy was scared. Tommy was so, so scared, and angry, and- and he couldn’t do this right now. He wasn’t healed yet, he hadn’t moved on—and quickly gripped Tommy’s arm for comfort, but that only made Tommy flinch. “Oh! Techno, Phil— what brings you guys here?”

Tommy needed to go. He needed to run. He couldn’t do this. _Run_ , a voice chanted, **_run_** , it chanted again, louder, and he almost did. Before he could, though, Techno gripped him, rougher, and Tommy began to panic— _Tommy_ , Dream’s voice began, and Tommy stilled, _don’t make this harder for yourself_. _You’re better than this_. Tommy’s vision began to swirl; he was going to die. Dream was going to kill him— no, no, _Tubbo_ would. Tubbo had promised he would right to his face, and he would. He had followed Tommy into the past, he had to of, and now he was going to die— he was going to kill Tommy, and Phil and Techno would die again, and he— he would win again. He—

“Tommy?” Tubbo’s concerned voice cut through Tommy’s thoughts, and Dream’s voice burbled to the top, chanting: _Kill him_ , _Tommy_ , _kill him_. **_Kill him_**!

Or maybe it was _his_ voice. Tommy didn’t know. Tommy didn't care. Tommy wanted to leave. Tommy didn’t want to die. No, Tommy would die, he was destined to—but Techno and Phil wouldn’t. Tubbo wouldn’t kill them, Tommy wouldn’t let him.

Before Tommy could think—he hadn’t been thinking for a while now—he quickly slapped Techno’s arm off of his, and, almost robotically, he pulled out his sword and _striked_. Blood fell from where Tubbo held his arm, and with his glossy, wide, green eyes, he stared back at the panicked, and shaking form of Tommy—his best friend, his _pal_ , _his_ — his— his _what_? 

Tommy ran off, then, panicked and scared. No one tried to stop him. 

**_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_** erupted in his ears, but Tommy didn’t listen. He knew he would have to eventually, but he didn’t now.

Tommy curled, just like he always had when he lost control, but the voices continued as usual—some were concerned, some were angry, and some were mocking him. _E_ , and _Are you okay_? were scattered about in his head, which he didn’t let himself be comforted by. He knew they would be back, he _knew_ ; Techno had made sure of that.

Although Techno was alive now, he figured the chat wouldn’t just disappear; it went deeper than that. _Techno had passed this curse onto him_ , and now he had to deal with it. But he needed to move, and quick—the chat would rat him out soon enough, and some were already doing so; _Techno_ , _he_ ’ _s_ in a cave, one said, and he panicked. In the end, his theory had been proved right; they shared chat, now. They both had the same curse. Techno probably hadn’t pieced it together yet, but he was going to, soon, because the chat was going to tell him—Tommy knew they would. 

_Tommy_ , a voice unlike the others interrupted, sharply, like a threat; Tommy knew that voice. It was Dream’s voice. _What did I tell you about being weak_? He contorted, angrily, and Tommy curled in instinct; this Dream was just a memory—a memory of a slightly darker time, but it was _Dream_! **_He missed dream so much_** —but it sounded so real. Weakly, Tommy whispered in response, “I’m— I’m not allowed to— to be weak,” He said, and the chat exploded with concern. Some, however, were busy giving Techno directions, and some were just treating this like entertainment. Tommy didn’t listen to them, though; instead, he focused on Dream’s voice. Dream was comforting. Dream never lied. Dream was mean, but he was nice, too. Tommy owed everything to Dream. “I can’t be weak. I— _why did you leave me_?” 

He didn’t care if the chat heard the exchange. They would hear eventually, anyway, so he didn’t care. _Tommy_ , _Dream_ ’ _s_ voice began, sighing. _If you_ ’ _re weak, you_ ’ _ll be hurt again_. Dream mumbled, soothingly, and Tommy gripped his knees harder, remembering Tubbo. _You don_ ’ _t want that_ , _right_? Tommy didn’t respond. He remembers he didn’t respond at that time, either. **_Right_**? 

“Yes,” He replied, silent, and still weak. “Right. You’re right.”

_Then get up_ , he said, and Tommy let go of his knees. _And prove to me that you’re not weak_.

Tommy got up, then. Dream was right—what was he doing? He let chat hear his exchange, too; he was so fucking _stupid_. No wonder no one liked him. He wouldn’t, either, if he was being honest. Sighing, he steadied himself, putting a hand against the wall. “I’m okay, chat,” He said, silently. Chat still heard him—they always did—and some responded, but some didn’t. “I’m okay. I’m okay. _I_ ’ _m okay_.”

He had to get out of there. Though, they’d probably tell Techno where he was going, and Tommy didn’t know how long it’d be until Techno caught up to him. Techno wouldn’t hurt him, though— _right_? 

Tommy remembered the look Techno gave him, the glare, the scream, the— Tommy collapsed again, knees digging into the concrete with a sob; he couldn’t do this. He _couldn_ ’ _t_. He didn’t want to be here anymore—maybe he should’ve just stayed in his own timeline, and just _died_. He should’ve let _him_ do it, and then he’d be done hurting people, and he wouldn’t have to be in pain anymore. Maybe that would’ve been better. He had already hurt someone again, and it was Tubbo, no less; Tubbo had been bad, but this was not _his_ Tubbo. This was innocent, naive Tubbo; Tommy’s best friend. Tommy’s _ally_. Tommy’s **_enemy_** — no, Tubbo was good here. **_Bad_**. Good. **_Tubbo was bad_**. No, Tubbo was—

He didn’t know. He didn’t know. _He didn’t know_.

At some point, arms had been wrapped around him, and he choked out, weakly; “ _Techno_?”

The person didn’t answer, but the voices did it for him; _HELP HIM TECHNO_ , a voice shouted, _BIG BROTHER TECHNO POG_ , another came, and then, _TOMMY ARE U OK_? However, Tommy didn’t respond. He couldn’t, now; he didn’t know what he’d say. He didn’t want to say anything.

So he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my pacing is as horrible as ever lmfao  
> anyways, i hope you enjoyed this chapter, and i’ll see you when i next upload <3

**Author's Note:**

> this story is somewhat based off of “rewind” (https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238295/chapters/69196854) and “protégé” by sugarboy (https://archiveofourown.org/works/28105263/chapters/68861583) so if you like this, you’ll like those!
> 
> anyways, the next chapter will probably be out tomorrow (since i’ve already written it, but i’ll need to fix some things up before uploading it). though, the next chapter is much better, and is much more action-filled, so don’t worry! :D


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